


One Day, Maybe Next Week

by newyorktopaloalto



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Episode Related, Episode: s01e10 The White Violin, Extended Scene, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: Five asks the Handler to stop wasting his time; the Handler is more than happy to oblige him.





	One Day, Maybe Next Week

**Author's Note:**

> Am I the first person for this ship? Interesting, interesting, interesting. Also, I see that Five has two character tags, so I just used both. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own, so please don't sue. Title of fic taken from Blondie's One Way or Another. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!

“Are you going to keep the shorts?” 

Five turned to stare at the Handler, who tilted her head with a little smile that lent itself more an attempt of humor rather than an actual jocular nature. 

“I mean, I personally enjoy the look, but you do know that you are able to live in long pants even with the schoolboy physicality, right?” 

“I'm sure you don't mind any of it.” His response was quick, biting, and with a sneer that tried to imply a lot more than the Handler actually took from it. 

“If we're stuck with the shorts, I suppose I'll have to make do.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Five attempted to sustain some semblance of his lingering patience. “Why are we still having this farce of a conversation?” 

She shrugged, handing Five the flute of champagne that had been in her hand the last minute. “You tell me.” Shooting him a pitying look, then, the Handler took a swig of her champagne and dabbed at the side of her mouth where a few drops had made their way into her scar tissue. “You're smart, Five, you know why you're still having this conversation.” 

“Stop wasting my time.” 

“Easy.” 

The air around them stilled. 

“Just you and I then, Five, without wasting _any_ precious time.” Her statement was ironic; the Commission and its employees, current or erstwhile, understood how little time actually meant if given the right tools and the proper coordinates. “Now tell me this: right now your siblings are trying to stop an event of apocalyptic proportions that, let's face it, we at the Commission are absolutely certain to make happen—one way or another—and you're still here when at any moment,” the Handler gestured with her champagne flute to further her point, “you could have popped away and left me sitting alone on this couch.

“So why aren't you doing that, my dear, darling Number Five?” 

Five took a seat on the arm of the couch, angling his body so he could face the Handler while scoping the entry points in his peripheral—despite the facetious nature of the conversation, it was not unlikely that she would try something to fetter his progress. 

“What if I want that body?” 

She waved his question away easily. “It's destroyed. Which is too bad because I made very special care to give you the best of everything. Better than before, even.” 

There was a small pause as she shrugged. “But I suppose vaguely malnourished is the best you're going to get when traversing a wasteland with half a mannequin for years and years and years.” 

“Which is the generous offer that you're giving me again.” 

The Handler grinned, only a touch of sincerity in the motion and said, “At least this time you know someone's watching you, waiting.” 

“What if I want more insurance than that?” 

“Then I would ask what you can do for the Commission in return?” 

He scoffed and shook his head before leaning over to pour the both of them more champagne. “We both know the Commission won't touch me after what I did. You here? Coming after me, stopping time? It's personal—so I think the question you want to ask is: 'what can you do for me, Five?'” 

Leaning closer to where Five was lowly settling out his case, the Handler leaned her chin on the back of one hand. After a moment, she let out a small 'hmn' that was more of a real response than most anything she had said before. She placed her champagne flute on the coffee table, before taking her now free hand and tapping the pointer finger against the cap of Five's knee. 

“You are a _very_ smart man, Five.

“But don't worry, it won't be anything that you won't enjoy immensely.” 

“Then let's meet,” Five replied, the sneer on his face only softening by a fraction, “a week after the end.” 

“Oh, I'll meet you in a week,” the Handler promised, standing up as she trailed her fingers down the side of Five's face, “regardless of when you're at.” 

The air in the room started to flow again. 

“Now go on—run to your family, my lovely Five.” 

Five popped away. 

The Handler took the two previously abandoned flutes of champagne, downing the both of them in five seconds flat. Her 'hm!' as she swallowed the last of the drink was chuffed. 

“It won't matter soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo 
> 
> feel free to contact me at newyorktopaloalto@mail.com or newyorktopaloalto on DW


End file.
